


Their Days Have Hurried By

by onthestrangestsea



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006), Robin Hood - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23515858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onthestrangestsea/pseuds/onthestrangestsea
Summary: Marian marries Guy. It unfolds from there. AU from the middle of 1x13. Spoilers for random bits of the show.
Relationships: Guy of Gisborne/Marian of Knighton, Maid Marian/Robin Hood, Marian of Knighton/Robin of Locksley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter One

The moment after she sealed her fate - “I Will” - her only thought was of hiding her husband’s own handiwork from him. She did not hear the priest’s other words, that he pronounced them man and wife and so Guy’s kiss took her by surprise. She gasped, her lips parting. Guy took it as a sign, deepening their kiss and drawing her closer. She winced, the wound pressing against the stiff fabric of her dress. 

This was her first priority. Marian knew what would follow this moment. A celebration at the castle. The procession to his home-Locksley wasn’t his, her mind interrupted. She shook the thought away. It did not matter now who Locksley belonged to, she would end her night there and the bedding would reveal the wound he had made in the Nightwatchman’s side. 

She hadn’t thought of it before the wedding, her thoughts focused on the fantasy that Robin might still appear, a knight in shining green. But perhaps their last fight has truly been their last. She was so used to pushing him, to do more, to do less, pushing him away. And now she pushed him far enough that he had not come to save her.

“You told him not to,” a voice in her head cruelly reminded her. Yet how many times had he listened to her before? 

The celebrations at the castle were muted, the bride and her groom sitting silently at the head of the table. Guy had not spoken to her since his vows and she thought to break the silence now.

“How do you find the food, Sir Guy?” Marian asked and she found she had to clear her throat first. 

“You cannot call me Sir Guy now that we are married,” he said lightly in response, his smile and his words were hesitant. She lifted her lips in response, a small smile to encourage him. Her smile fell when she met her father’s eyes, sitting across the table watching her closely. It was easy to lie, to put on a false smile for Guy, but to lie in front of her father who knew her true smiles so well was harder.

Edward looked away, blinking quickly to prevent the tears that threatened to fill his eyes. Fathers did not give their daughters away in marriage for their happiness. They gave them away to keep them safe, well fed and looked after. He had done that. After years of living on the edge of danger and death, he had secured his daughter’s safety at least. He was glad now that he had come to her wedding, abandoning his plan to expose the Sheriff. Robin’s Saracen man had found him and told him of the plot and the brush with death only reminded Edward that marrying her to Gisbourne was the only choice. 

Yet Edward had never been as other fathers. Since she was a babe, he had sought the happiness of his only child, his little Marian. A man not given to frivolity, even as Sheriff, he made her laugh by pulling faces and letting her ride on his horse, bringing her ribbons for her hair and cloth for her dresses. He had doted on her until he no longer could. And although they had made her safe, they could not make her happy and it broke his heart to see it. 

So he could not meet his daughter’s eyes, fearful that the tears in his would bring her own.

Marian could not cry, however. She was too weary, her wound ached, itching as it healed and she simply wanted to sleep. To sleep for weeks and months until the real king returned and she could forget all that had happened.

“Guy, I am tired,” she said. He looked at her in surprise. She had spoken so softly, she had leaned next to him to speak. It shocked him in its intimacy, that she had drawn closer to him of her own will.

“We shall leave, now,” he said, without looking at the Sheriff. It was his wedding night and he would not take another man’s lead, not today.

Before the lords and ladies bid the newly wed couple off on horses with white streamers, Marian had hugged her father tightly.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, my sweet daughter,” he replied, pressing a kiss into her hair and she took a shuddering breath before she straightened. 

At Locksley, the house had not been made ready for a bride. The servants did not line the entryway to shower the couple with flowers and the house showed no sign it knew the importance of the day. As they stepped down from their horses, Marian steeled herself for the pain but Guy did not take her in his arms to carry her over the threshold. She wondered if he knew it was the custom? But he did take her hand, gentler than she thought he would and led her into the house.

Thorton and the other servants stood, hesitant to greet them. She knew they feared Guy, they were tied to the house and its land and not from love for him. She would change things, Marian thought. She would make things better for these people, if she could not for others. This was the way she was, taking the small broken things around her and setting them to rights. 

She could do the same with Guy she thought later, as she sat in the bedchamber. She had changed into her nightclothes alone, gently sending away the maid who had come to help her. She needed to check the wound, it bled lightly still and the pain throbbed particularly at night, but it was healing at the edges and she was relieved. 

Marian looked around the room, it would be kind to call it austere. Furnished with a bed and a chair, its floors and walls were bare. She had never been in this room before, the master’s bedroom where Robin’s father had slept but the rest of the house was nearly as familiar to her as her own. The pain of being in the house, in Locksley, without its Robin was like an ache in her stomach. She could not think on it too long without wanting to sob but nor could she ignore it.

The door creaked open. Her husband walked in. He was dressed in clothes for home, his shirt slightly open at the collar. She had never seen him in anything so intimate and it made him a stranger momentarily. Softer somehow. 

“Marian,” he said, moving towards her slowly as if he would frighten her away with quick movements. 

“Guy, I must tell you something,” she said and he stopped in his tracks. He became familiar once again as a scowl appeared on his face. He steeled himself for whatever she was about to say. “I know it is our wedding night but I am having my courses.”

He stared at her in confusion.

“My monthly courses, Guy,” Marian said, her face reddening so prettily he smiled at her.

“I do not care about that, Marian. We have servants, they will wash the sheets,” he moved closer to her. Marian stood and shook her head.

“Please - I wish for my first time, for our first time - I want it to be perfect,” she said it hesitantly and he stopped in his tracks. She blushed again, Marian was a good liar, she had become one but in the blazing fire and under his gaze, she felt exposed and raw. 

“Yes, fine,” he said and she could see something fold in him as he turned away. “I will sleep elsewhere.” It was not sympathy alone that drove her to stand up and grab his hand, she felt she had to make her lie real. But it was also sympathy and the thought that this too was a broken thing she could fix. She turned him around and stood on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his softly. 

“Stay. Sleep next to me.” He deepened the kiss, a desperate sound leaving his mouth. His fist tightened in her hair and he pressed her against him. She untangled herself gently and his eyes were dark as they looked into hers. She led them to the bed, her hand tugging his and forced herself not to wince as her wound screamed when she crawled into the bed. 

Guy fell asleep still watching her, his arm around her waist loose and her hair fanned against his face. Marian let herself press her back against his chest, forcing herself to shut her eyes tightly, willing sleep to come. Her lie would keep only another night or two and she would have to think of another plan in the morning. Robin would help, she knew, although she could not bear to see him now. It hurt even to think of him now while she lay in his father’s room in another man’s arms. And when she fell asleep all at once, she still dreamed of the green forest and his laughing smile against her mouth.


	2. Chapter Two

Guy had left for the castle when she awoke, she hazily remembered his waking at dawn, pressing a kiss against her cheek, and the servants had left her a tray of food by the bed. She knew she had slept late from the bright light outside but she couldn’t feel guilty for the indulgence, with sleep having abated the pain from her wound and the fog from her head.

“Thornton, I need my horse,” she said, walking downstairs after donning a loose pair of pants. Guy would likely hate to see her in them, no other women wore them but even her father had grown used to them and they let her ride a horse astride, as fast as any man. 

“My lady,” Thornton nodded but Marian would not meet his eyes. She had known him as long as she had known Robin and that he could see her in Robin’s house as another man’s wife felt like a betrayal. She did not wish to see any disapproval in his eyes, it would break her. 

“And a basket of food, for the villagers. I will ride to town,” she told him. Thornton smiled softly and nodded again. He had been distraught when he had heard who Gisbourne would marry. In his mind, he could still see the young girl in the stables, hidden in the loft with Robin, her laugh ringing through the wood giving them away. But he should have known that Marian would make the best of her lot in life, she was her father’s daughter and would do what she could.

Perhaps Thornton would have worried more if he had seen her a half hour later, saddled with food and bread for the villagers yet galloping on the trail to the forest rather than the well worn road to town. It wasn’t always easy to find Robin’s camp. They moved frequently and he knew the forest better than she ever would. But his men kept a watchful eye and she knew which roads they patrolled most frequently. Her horse cantered slowly and she swept her eyes over the trees, looking for movement. 

“Marian!” she heard Allan’s voice as he swung from behind the trees. He seemed glad to see her and it cheered her too, the entire gang had worried over her when she had nearly died and it was a kindness to feel their concern. 

“Hullo, Allan,” she called out. Her voice was lighter than she felt. 

“Here to see Robin?” he asked.

“Djaq, actually,” she said, jumping down from the horse. 

“Same place so it’ll be easy!” he said and they walked in silence towards the camp. Marian offered him bread from her pack and he took it gladly, chewing loudly as they walked. It soothed her to be in the forest, the birdsong and the wind a balm even as her heart hammered against her chest. 

She saw Robin before he saw her. His eye was black and his lip had been cut, he lay against his pack with his eyes closed, a bandaged hand held lightly against his chest.

“Look what I found in the forest!” Allan cheerily called and she knew Robin was hurt for although he jumped to his feet, he winced through the movement. 

“Robin,” she said softly. “You’re hurt.” He didn’t respond, looking at her closely, his hand glancing at the ring on her left hand and then again at her face.

“We were coming to get you. To tell you it wasn’t the real king,” Much said, and now that she tore her eyes from Robin she saw Much was hurt too, his face cut and bruised. “The guards caught us and it took us hours to get away.”

“I am sorry,” Robin said and he looked as if he would say more but silence lapsed in the camp. He looked defeated, more hurt than his injuries would suggest. She wanted to take his face in her hands and lightly kiss the places that hurt but she did not move closer, the ring on her hand heavy with meaning. 

“I need a favor,” Marian said.

“Anything,” Robin said quickly, suddenly.

“From Djaq,” she finished, smiling. Djaq, who like the others had carefully trained her eyes anywhere but at Marian and Robin, startled at the sound of her name.

“Is it your wound?” Djaq asked, already reaching for her pack and supplies.

“Yes, but not what you think. I want you to cut it open again.” All eyes went to her face. Marian continued, if she did not say it quickly, she thought she might lose her courage. “My wound will give me away as the Nightwatchman unless I do something. I need you to do this, Djaq. You have to cut it open again and maybe another cut elsewhere. I’ll need you to hit my face too, to make it seem real. I’ll leave this food and my jewels with you. You can leave me on the road outside the forest,” she finished to the horrified looks on the faces around her.

“No,” Djaq said.

“No,” Robin said, more loudly. “Absolutely not.”

“You must! If he sees this wound, he will know I am the Nightwatchman. We have to give him another explanation” Marian said, wringing her hands. The plan had come together in her head in the early morning and it took all her courage to even ask.

“Marian, I cannot harm you on purpose. It is against everything I believe in,” Djaq said, shaking her head still as if the idea could fall out of her mind if she tried.

“Then you will doom me to my death, Djaq,” Marian said.

“No, this is not under discussion. I’ll kill Gisbourne,” Robin said, his voice was grim and Marian knew he meant what he said.

“Robin, could we speak? Alone?” Marian asked, she could make him see sense, she thought.

“No,” he responded. 

“What?” she said, surprised.

“No, Marian. I already know how this conversation will go. I will tell you I can kill Gisbourne and save you from this life, that I can keep you and your father safe in the forest. Then you’ll say no, he’s too old and ill and we must all make sacrifices,” Robin said, his voice was mocking but his eyes were anything but. The rest of the gang shifted uncomfortably. They had grown used to seeing Marian and Robin argue but this was different, a tragic current running under the conversation.

“Robin, enough,” Marian said sternly and walked away before she even knew if he would follow. But he did, with a sigh, and they walked in the uncomfortable silence until the gang’s voices became murmurs. “I didn’t come here to fight with you,” she said, stopping and turning to face him.

“No, you came here to ask Djaq to mutilate you,” he said and the mocking tone had gone from his voice, his voice was soft.

“You know why,” she cried. “What else can I do?”

“Come to the forest. We should be together, I told you that,” he said desperately. 

“I cannot, and you know that I cannot. I am his wife now,” she said and his face turned as if she had slapped him.

“Don’t. Don’t say that. I can’t think that, I can’t think of you there in my house with him,” he said, sitting, collapsing nearly onto the ground. His bandaged hand dug against the tree, the pain keeping him centered. Marian sat next to him, close enough that she could have touched him although she didn’t. 

“What is your plan after the wound recovers? You cannot convince him you still possess your maidenhead,” he said. He had meant the words to sound cruel, to wound, but his voice was still too pained to be sharp. 

“No, I cannot,” Marian said, her voice soft. Their eyes met and she knew they were both thinking of the same memory. 

“Marian,” Robin said, his voice rough with the memory and with meaning. It went straight to her core and they met in a furious kiss. Her mouth fell open for him and she clutched against his neck. She had pressed him against the tree and she felt him harden against her, the feeling bringing a moan from her lips. “Marian, stop, please,” he said and it was a plea. 

She stared at him, their breathing ragged. “You’re still hurt,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead and pulling away from her. She wanted to grab him, to bring him back down for another kiss, to remind him of the day she had lost her maidenhead to him, in a heather like the one they were in now, young and in love and with no thoughts of wars or loneliness or fear. But the moment had gone and Robin had already moved away from her. 

“I am sorry I didn’t arrive in time. Yesterday,” he said.

“It would have happened eventually, Robin,” she said, she had forgiven him already but his apology tore at her. 

“Do you think he’ll believe it? A near identical cut on your side?” Robin asked, and he had already given in. Marian shrugged, her face set grimly. Robin didn’t know when she had become so hardened, her soft edges blurring into this stone. Sometimes, when she smiled at his japes or when she held his hand lightly, he could see that old Marian. And other times, now, with her eyes steel and her jaw clenched, he thought perhaps he did not know her at all.

“Come, let’s see what Djaq can do without killing you entirely,” he said and held his hand out. She took it and he pulled her in for another deep kiss. She yelped when she felt a sharp pain, he had smacked her behind and when she looked at him, his cheeky smile mirrored hers. “I will always, always-” she kissed him again to cut off the thought, his words dying against her mouth. She could not bear to hear the end of his sentence, if she did she could not face her return to her husband. 

“I know, Robin,” she said and he smiled shakily. It felt like a goodbye, reminding him of another long ago and the familiar guilt of it tore at him. He was not a man given to contemplation and so he wouldn’t ruminate now, pulling her back to the camp, forcing himself to think only about the feel of her soft hand in his. He would think later of the feeling of her pressed against him, the tree rough on his back and thought he would never forgive himself for stopping her. But he knew too, the truth that if they had continued, he could never have sent her away, he could have never given her up. 

They followed her plan exactly. Djaq worked carefully to sedate Marian first and open the old wound, hitting her firmly on her side where a bruise blossomed almost immediately. It looked worse than it would feel and that was the only comfort Djaq would take from this exercise in horror. She hit Marian across the face once she was asleep, careful to do it softly enough not to truly hurt her, but cracking her lip slightly, the blood staining against the pale skin.

Robin watched the entire time. Djaq wished he wouldn’t because his winces were a reminder of what she was doing. But she could not ask him to leave and he wouldn’t if she did. He held Marian’s hand tightly, even after Djaq’s concoction put her in a deep sleep. When they left Marian by the side of the road, setting her horse off in another direction, he kissed her forehead, brushing her soft hair from her face. She was beautiful even then, with the blood beginning to seep against her shift and her face bruised. He would die for her, he thought, but could do nothing to help her. It felt like a sharp pain in his chest. 

They distributed the food to villagers, while Will called for help, running into the forest before it arrived. Robin stayed in the trees, watching until a guard galloped towards her, picking up her unmoving body. He threw her ring, gaudy and expensive, into the river. Her necklace he kept. It was a gift from her father, he knew, and one day he would give it back to her.


	3. Chapter Three

Marian’s recovery was as painful as she feared. The old wound, newly healing, cried at being torn open once more and Marian winced when she saw the bruises on her side and face in the mirror days later. But Djaq had been careful and Marian healed quickly. A week later she was walking gingerly around the house and another month later, she was ready to be on her horse.

Guy was slower to adjust. He had reacted as Marian imagined, sending guards out to find her assailants. She knew villagers must have been hounded, looking for the imaginary villains who had done this to her. Her father had come to visit after they found her, his face white from concern. She had sent Guy from the room, only after convincing him that her father, of course, would not hurt her.

“Marian, my God, what’s happened?” Edward asked, taking her hand, his face in shock.

“Father, I did it myself. I had a friend do it. To hide the wound from before,” she said, it ached to speak but she could not let her father think she had been assaulted, beaten and stabbed and perhaps worse. 

“What?” Edward asked in shock and although she explained it, he had left in horror still and Marian knew he would not see her the same after this. 

In the weeks that had followed, Guy had been ever present. He was gentle and thunderous in turns, blaming himself for her injuries one day and her own carelessness on others.

So a month later, when she was ready to ride her horse again, she was faced by a husband who simply would not allow it.

“If you think I would let you roam the roads after what happened, you are mad, Marian,” he said. They were seated at breakfast and he glared at Marian, a warning to not argue. Marian didn’t heed this warning.

“So am I to be a prisoner in this home? To never go anywhere?” she said, slamming her hand onto the table.

“Not without me!” Guy said, his voice loud enough to frighten her for a moment. “Marian, you nearly died,” he said, his eyes softening. 

“But I didn’t,” she replied. She leaned over, kissing him softly on the cheek. This was how she had learned to soothe him, a hand on his arm, a gentle kiss. Although he clearly knew she was not ready to be abed together, it was clear he wanted her. Her touches were a reminder, a promise. 

“You can come to the castle today. I have business there this morning. Will that be enough?” Guy said. Her responding smile cheered him. Even now after a month of marriage, she kept him at arm’s length. Not only from her injuries but her thoughts were closed off to him. She was a riddle he desperately wanted the answer to.

Later, as they rode to the castle together, moving slowly so Marian’s horse would not jostle her injuries, Guy looked at his wife in the morning sun. She was his wife in name only still and it was increasingly difficult to hold himself back. Although they had not been intimate, they slept in the same bed and in the night, sometimes he would wake to find her head on his chest, a hand across his stomach. It took all of his energy not to grab her then, to wake her and kiss her desperately. He was not a gentle man but could not help but think of when they had brought her to the castle physician a month ago, blood on her fine blue dress and scratches along her arms. 

Now that she is healing, he thought, our life can begin and I will be a different man. 

Marian’s thoughts veered in another direction, she could scream with the happiness of being outside, the fresh air and sun warm on her skin. Everyday was a challenge in balancing Guy’s moods and her own secrets, balancing his concern for her and her own sanity. She had to admit he had been caring, looking after her far more gently than she would have imagined. But it made her claustrophobic too, trapped in the dark rooms in the house when her thoughts still strayed to the green Sherwood forest. 

At the castle, she walked around the grounds while Guy attended to the Sheriff. It was hard in her mind to reconcile the gentle man at home who carefully changed her dressings with the violent man who did the Sheriff’s bidding. She did not wish to see the latter and so did not go into the castle. 

Marian walked around the market. She knew the people did not see her as they had before, as the old Sheriff’s daughter, but now as Gisbourne’s wife and they shied away from her smiles. It broke her heart to see it, she had been loved always in this castle. But the guards smiled on her as she came near and she could hear their discussion.

“The Sheriff says the tax collector will be returning three days hence so he will need protection, you and James and I can do it, shouldn’t take more than three with the roads so quiet lately” the guard William said to another. Marian moved closer to hear them as they discussed, their voices low. 

“My lady?” the guard said, as Marian drew closer.

“Hello. Will you tell Sir Guy I’ve taken my horse home? The sun is bright and I am tired,” she said to the guards. She rode her horse from the castle, her heart in her throat and her legs sore from weeks of disuse, now spurring the horse along. 

“Robin!” Marian called, as soon as she entered the forest. The light changed in the forest, the sun’s harsh glare filtering through the leaves and the branches became a soft glow and it warmed her instead of burning her. She pushed her horse faster, riding deeper into the forest, calling his name.

She stopped suddenly as he appeared in front of her, a smile on his face.

“Lady Gisbourne,” he said, his voice so bitter that it curdled the smile on his own face. She rolled her eyes, jumping down from the horse to stand in front of him. He took a step back, pasting the smile back upon his own face.

“To what do we owe the honor of this visit?” he said, bowing to her.

“Alright, enough,” Marian said. “I’m coming from the castle, thought you might want to hear some news. And I thought I might have Djaq look at the cut,” she said. Robin stood up sharply staring at her.

“Is it healing? Is it infected?” he had dropped the smile and the sarcastic tone suddenly. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” she waved away the concern but it still warmed her. She had not seen him in a month and his beard and his hair had both grown longer. She wanted to run her fingers through his stands, to feel the curve of his jaw under her palm. She wanted to show him the wound and run his fingers over the scar of it. But he was already walking away, talking quickly about what had happened since he had seen her last - the hunger was back in Clun although the sickness was not, and in Locksley the summer harvest had been plenty. This was how it always was, the truth of how they felt gone unsaid so she followed him, listening to his stories, laughing and scowling in equal measure.

At camp, she was greeted with warm hugs and a kiss on her cheek from Much whose face reddened when she looked at him in surprise. For a moment on her way to the forest, she worried that they would truly think her Lady Gisbourne and not the same old Marian but the warmth in the forest was unchanged. She let Djaq take her somewhere more private to check her wounds and once they were declared nicely healing, she sat in the camp, resting her eyes for a moment and breathing in the open air. Their conversations--Allan needling Will, Much chastising Robin for taking food before it was fully cooked, Djaq lecturing the boys on drinking too much ale--washed over her.

Robin watched her as she sat against the trees, her eyes fluttering under the closed eyelids as if dreaming. She smiled every now and then. He knew it would not be safe for her to stay here long but he could not bring himself to rouse her, to force her to share the news and be on her way. He had not heard her voice in a month, had not touched her, had not seen her smile. 

He had caught glimpses of her, he had climbed up the trees behind Locksley when he thought Gisbourne would be out. He was not always right and once he had caught the sight of Gisbourne sitting next to a sleeping Marian in Robin’s father’s old room and he had not returned after that. It was not how he wanted to think of her. This is how he wanted to picture her, her cheeks rosy from riding her horse, her dress muddy from the ground, her lips in a soft content smile. Well, that is how he wanted to picture her in the daylight. At night, in his dreams and when he found his own release, quietly and quickly away from camp, he thought of a different Marian altogether. 

As if she heard the impure thoughts, her eyes fluttered open and met his. He winked at her and she blushed.

“I should go,” Marian said, brushing the twigs from her dress. “Robin, I heard some guards at the castle. The taxman is staying there and he is leaving at the end of the week, they won’t take him on the big castle road, but the older routes, the quieter ones,” she said.

“Good. We’ll be there to make sure it’s not so quiet,” Robin said. 

“I should go,” Marian repeated, as though trying to remind herself although nobody had told her to stay.

“I’ll walk you back to the edge of the forest,” Robin said, he could not bear to let her leave yet. Each time he saw her at his camp, settled among his forest and his men, his mind would not let him forget the image for days and it would tear at him. 

They walked slowly, each working up the courage to say the things that they wanted-I love you, I miss you, I hate you, come back. 

“How is your husband?” Robin asked, it was a cruel thing to say and he knew it but he wanted the rise out of her, to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Don’t do that, Robin. Please,” she said and her plea was soft and shamed him.

“How is your father?” he asked, moving closer to her.

“Good. He tells me you visit. You shouldn’t,” she said but the admonishment was gentle.

“I do it only at night. He tells me the news. I think he welcomes it, the house is quiet now,” and the thought of her father alone in that house went to the heart of her. 

“Thank you for looking after him,” she said. The trees thinned and she knew he would have to turn back now. 

“Marian-” “Robin-”

They spoke at the same time and then shook their heads in unison. Robin laughed, at the awkwardness and stilted conversation. When they were young, they could spend hours talking. When she would return to her house in the dimming day’s light, Edward admonished her for staying out too late, and she would nod, accepting the lecture and then run to her room. She would push her door closed, locking it with a piece of wood jammed in the door and run to her window.

There Robin would be waiting. He would sit in her window and through hushed giggles and whispers, he could stay there for hours. On a few occasions, when his father became sick, the night of their betrothal, the day after their first time in that glen, he had stayed at her window all night, leaving only when the sun came up. 

“How are you?’ he asked her, and the words were loaded with meaning.

“I am surviving, Robin,” she said and he drew her into a hug. It took her by surprise but his embrace was warm and she let herself melt into it. She did not realize she was crying until she felt his shirt damp against her own face. 

“I am sorry,” she said, laughing lightly and wiping her eyes. 

“I always make pretty girls cry when I say goodbye,” he said, and she smiled back.

“Robin, if - if there are pretty girls, I would not begrudge you,” she said, her face becoming serious.

“Shh, enough enough,” he said, pulling her back into his arms. He kissed her forehead and she looked up at him. He kissed her softly then, with all the things that were gone unsaid behind the kiss. She tangled her fist in that soft brown hair then, gently running her nails against his neck. He brought her closer, his hand on her back and then on the curve of her behind. She wanted to grind herself against him, to relieve the ache that had worked its way into her when he had kissed her. But she had stayed too long.

“I should go,” she said.

“You should go,” he agreed. He kissed her cheek and smiled, “thank you for bringing us news of the taxman!” 

“Robin!” she called and he turned back to look at her. “I’ll see you soon,” it was a question and it was a promise and he held it close to his heart even as he wept on his walk back to camp, anger and frustration and wanting becoming tears.


	4. Chapter Four

After that, she visited the forest weekly. She brought them castle gossip and freshly baked bread and Robin never said the word husband. He always walked her alone back to the edge of the forest and kissed her - sometimes softly against her hair, or innocent kisses on her cheek, sometimes against a tree, kisses that left her gasping, left him moaning against her neck. They never went further. There was never time. 

She would take her horse home slowly, thinking still of him, always thinking of him. It was impossible not to. She lived in his house, memories of him softly suffused every corner of the house. One night, she woke and could not sleep. It was a warm night and although the windows were open, there was no breeze and she lay in her sweat with Guy pressed next to her. 

She wandered the house in her shift, walking quietly, almost unconsciously to the room at the end of the hall. It had one single bed, Robin’s old bed. Marian sat on it softly, it had always creaked. She pressed her palms against the sheets and she thought for a moment she could smell him, on the fabric or in the air, although he hadn’t been in the room for years. A sob left her mouth suddenly, and she lay in that old, unused room weeping for everything she had lost, everything she couldn’t have until the morning sun reminded her she should find herself back in her own bed with her husband.

Guy blew hot and cold. He was gentle some days, ignoring her others. They had not consummated their marriage still, he was letting her recover from her wounds and she felt like he almost wanted her less now, that possessing her as his wife took some of the shine from her. 

It was not true and she would have known that if she had caught her husband’s eye when he watched her at night when she brushed out her growing hair. He was scared to hurt her, although it had been two months and he desperately wanted her. But he did not know how to be a husband and so they continued on in this way while she recovered.

They were at breakfast on a gusty, bright morning when a messenger arrived for Guy. He read the letter quickly and sighed.

“What is it?” Marian asked.

“Prince John has written to the Sheriff, he wants him in London immediately. I’ll have to accompany him,” he said, handing her the letter. “I’ll leave this afternoon.” 

She helped him prepare, folding his clothes and gently putting them in the trunk. 

“How long will you be gone?” she asked him.

“A week, maybe less,” he said, watching her sort through his clothes, the touch of her hands on the fabric felt intimate and familiar. “Marian, I - I’ll be back soon. Be safe,” he said quickly and she looked up at him, trying to discern the look on his face. He moved towards her and kissed her deeply, pulling her closer. She pulled away after a moment, and whispered “you’ll be late.” He nodded but could not hide his disappointment, his mood soured by her pulling away, always pulling away. 

Even when she kissed him, her lips soft on his, before waving goodbye, he could not lift his dark spirits. He wanted her, and two months of marriage had not brought her closer. 

Marian watched his retreating figure and thought of the freedom a week could bring her. She could take food to the village and check in on families she had not seen since her last escape from the house. She could go to the forest daily and bring fresh bread and ale to Robin and his gang, the smiles on their faces would be reward enough. And she would visit her father and stay for late evenings in front of the fire, where she could sit with him and make him tea and listen to his deep voice. 

She went into the kitchens and told the servants to gather food from the pantry. She and Guy would not miss it, he stayed at the castle most dinners and she knew what they could spare before drawing his notice. She gave Thornton some coin to fetch more flour and a little meat. Even if Guy knew that she took from their own larder to help the villagers, he said nothing. Their arrangement was tenuous and tense, as long as they kept from each other the truth of their actions-her charity and his violence in the castle, they could keep the uncomfortable peace in the house.

Marian entered her quiet bedroom as the sun set, taking down her hair and sitting in front of her mirror. She looked tired and old, dark circles under her eyes. She was so young still but her burdens were heavy. In the mirror behind her, suddenly, a dark figure appeared. 

Marian gasped, turning around, a knife already in her hand. 

“Quite the welcome in my own house,” Robin said, stepping into the candlelight.

“Robin!” she said, shuddering, the knife clattering back onto the table. “You startled me,” she said, her brows furrowed.

“I wanted to see your surprise, but didn’t think there would be a knife involved,” he said, smiling. 

“How did you get in?” she asked.

“Don’t you think I have enough practice at sneaking into this house at night?” he said. He looked around the room, it looked nothing like his fathers’. The worn rugs that he had played on, the tapestries his father collected long gone. 

“How did you know he was gone?” Marian asked. She did not say his name, although they stood in his bedroom.

“Intercepted a messenger this morning, read the good news and sent him on his way,” Robin said and smiled mischievously. “A week,” he said.

“A week,” she repeated. The air was charged between them, they had moments alone during her visits but this privacy, this time, was a freedom they hadn’t had in months, years. He walked around her, prowling like an animal and her clothes felt itchy on her. Robin’s eyes were dark and in the candlelight, she could not read his expression but she knew its meaning.

“What do you want, Marian?” he asked. She didn’t answer, but walked towards him, taking his face in her hands and his lips in hers. He moved her backwards, his lips moving against her until she met the wall. She was pressed between him and the stone, as he kissed her, his mouth on her lips and her neck and moving lower. 

“Robin, the bed, please,” she said, her voice shaking. He stepped back and looked at the bed.

“No,” he said, “not here.” 

“We haven’t--, we’ve never--,” she tried to explain but he shook his head again. He led her from the room, his footing sure in the dark, the well trod path out of the house. She feared that the servants would see her but he knew it would not matter. Those that didn’t love him from childhood loved the man who dropped food and coins at their neighbors’ and he knew there was no love for Gisbourne. 

They walked outside into the cool night, the breeze was soft and the stars shone brightly. She looked back at Locksley, in the dark, it looked imposing and large and she shivered, a sudden thrill of fear went through her.

“Come here,” Robin said, taking her hand. He interlaced their fingers and held her hand tightly while they walked. They talked only a little, Robin knew his way as well in the dark as he would have on a bright summer’s day but there was something sacred and serious in the silence and he didn’t want to break it. 

They walked towards the forest, the dark roads empty even in the late summer night. He led them to a clearing by a small lake. It seemed so familiar and suddenly she realized where he had brought her.

“It’s my castle!” she said and she sounded like the ten year old girl she had been when they had invented it. Robin laughed at her happiness, picking her up gently and swinging her around, kissing her softly before putting her back on her feet. When they were children, they played elaborate games of make-believe here. The thick branches of the trees at the edge of the lake bent and formed a seat of sorts that Queen Marian declared her throne, the gnarled trees her castle, the lake her kingdom. Much and Robin were servants or knights or dragons in turns. They could spend hours here, first as children with wooden swords and flowers as crowns. Then when they were older, with pilfered ale and stolen bread from the kitchens. And in the years before Robin left, they came without Much to Marian’s kingdom, their games suddenly much more serious. 

“Thank you for bringing me here, Robin,” she said. He took a blanket from his pack and laid it on the ground, the soft grass a bed. 

“Come here,” he said, not a request but his voice was soft. 

“No,” she said, sticking out her chin. She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight. He went to her instead and she pretended to run as he grabbed her, his arms encircling her easily. 

“I want to see you, Marian. I want so badly to see you,” he said. She shivered then, his fingers lightly grazing her collarbone. Robin slowly untied the laces at her throat, loosening the dress, tugging at it until it gaped at the neck.

“Robin,” she whispered and he looked up at her, his eyes dark and stormy. “I’m scared,” she said. He dropped his hands and stepped away, his mouth opening in apology. “No,” she interrupted, “I’m scared that if we do this, I won’t be able to live in that house. I won’t be able to live like this.” He swallowed, his throat thick with emotion but he led her to the blanket. He kissed her softly thinking of the first time he had kissed her here, by this lake. It was on a summer day, she had been tying daisy chains and her fingers were stained green and her mouth painted red by berries they had picked. Then she had tasted of them too, he had surprised her with the kiss which she accepted with a gasp and her hand clenching his shirt. 

“I fall asleep every night thinking of this,” he said to her, laying her on the blanket. He lay next to her, propped up on his side, one hand still toying with her dress. 

“Me too,” she admitted and her voice sounded so sweet and sure in the night, he kissed her again and then he could not stop himself. He undressed her in the moonlight and wished he had the full sun’s light to see her by. He traced the shape of her in the dark, the soft velvet under her breasts and the contours of her sides until he landed on the scar, a gash along her perfect skin.

He hated Gisbourne never more than in that second when he looked at the raised red mark. But then Marian pushed his hand downward and he stopped thinking about anything at all. 

He made love to her slowly at first, afraid it would end in an instant if he moved too quickly. But Marian was impatient, the kisses in the forest and his face in her dreams had left her wanting, wanting all the time. She pushed him back, gently turning him over and settling onto him. They moved quickly then, her impatience and her moans spurring him along. Their eyes met and Marian thought she could cry, from the pain of being filled and the pleasure and that it was her and Robin after months where she thought she could never have this.

Robin pulled her back to the present with a tweak to her breast that brought a gasp from her and then as his hand worked at the place their bodies met, her gasps became moans. She felt wanton from it, riding him, naked in the cold night, but the pleasure came faster and faster and she felt herself clench around him.

“Robin,” she said, “Robinrobinrobin,” a prayer and his name on her lips, in her pleasure brought him to his own and sat up, clutching her and kissing her even as he moaned into her mouth. 

They lay on the blanket after, their limbs sweaty still and entwined, covered with the side of the blanket pulled over them.

“So you think of this every night then?” he asked and she laughed against his chest, softly elbowing him and smiling at his grunt muffled in her hair.

“I should have known you’d let it go to your head,” she said. 

“We should get you back to Locksley,” he said, but neither of them moved, their limbs heavy from sleep and pleasure. 

“Why?” she asked. He craned his neck to look down at her, her beautiful hair soft on his chest. “We have all the time in the world,” she said and then she pulled him down to her and they began again.

Robin came every night for a week. She met him outside. Some nights they spent back by the lake and others in the old hayloft in the stables. 

Marian was right when she had told him that it would be impossible to return to her daily life for it was. During the day, she did her chores and errands in a haze. Her thoughts would inevitably stray to the night before and she would have to stand, legs pressed together, willing herself to focus on the task at hand. When the sun went down, she became useless. She would pace outside the house, waiting to see his loping stride and when he arrived, she would kiss him as if she thought he might never come. 

Robin never left before the sun came up. He too was useless to his men, returning when the sun did, exhausted and wired and awake. He would wake them all up laughing, clumsy when making breakfast and would fall asleep by noon, snoring in his lunch. When he fell out of a tree, falling asleep with his bow in his hand, Much warned him that his visits to Marian would be banned if Robin didn’t shape up. But they did not chide him too firmly because his smiles were easy and his happiness cheered them all. 

One night, Marian went to her father’s house, she had repaired the buttons on his shirts, although maids could have done it easily, just for the excuse to visit. She heard a familiar laugh as she walked towards the house and her heart lurched into her throat. Robin was already there, having dinner with the old Sheriff when she arrived. She walked into the house and blushed at seeing him. She felt like a young maid in the throes of courting and wanted nothing but to drag him upstairs to her old bedroom. Her father’s stern smile brought her back to Earth and she kissed her father hello. 

“Robin,” she said, nodding at him.

“Marian,” he replied and his smirk made her blush again. There was nothing improper in it but it brought memories of the night before, and she cleared her throat at the impropriety.

“What are you two up to?” Edward asked and the laughs he got in response filled him with no comfort.

“Why are you here, Robin?” Marian asked, settling herself at the table. 

“Your father has some interesting news about what Gisbourne and the Sheriff are up to,” Robin said and Marian flinched to hear Guy’s name in his mouth. They never discussed him, they never said his name and she felt as if he had broken some truce. 

“You shouldn’t involve my father in such things, Robin,” she said, more brusquely than she meant and Robin bristled, defensive suddenly.

“At least he’s trying to help,” Robin said.

“What does that mean?” Marian said, rising from the table in outrage. 

“Enough, both of you,” Edward said and they both turned to argue with him until he said, more loudly, “listen!” And they heard it then, the sound of hoofbeats. They both knew instantly what it meant and Marian hissed at Robin “hide.” There was no chance to say goodbye and in the swiftness of ushering him upstairs, as quietly as possible, she realized how dangerous a game they had been playing.

She sat back at the table, breathing deeply to slow her own heart and pretending she could not see her father’s glare. Guy entered the room, without a knock on the door. He did not own Knighton along with Marian but neither Edward nor Marian protested. 

“Guy!” Marian said, rising from the table. She kissed him on the cheek, demurely and the smile Guy gave her was real enough that it unfurled the guilt in her stomach.

“Sir Guy,” her father said, shaking his hand. “Will you stay for dinner? Marian dropped by for a meal,” he said, indicating the two plates and cups at the table. She could not hear Robin, nor see him thankfully, if he was smart, he would have left by now, out of her window and back to the forest. Still her body felt cold from the fear and the realization that they had put her father in danger.

“No, thank you, Sir Edward. I am tired from my journey. The servants said you were here, Marian,” Guy said and if it was a complaint, it was lightly said. He did not expect her to be home waiting for him, but he expected that she would come now without further delay. She bid her father goodbye and could not help but look back at her old bedroom, wondering if Robin still lay there hidden.


	5. Chapter Five

The first time her husband took her to bed, Marian steeled herself for his realization that she was no virgin. Yet he never said anything and she did not know if he did not notice or if he did not care. She had ridden horses since she was a young girl and it was plausible enough an excuse. Afterwards, he held her, kisses in her hair and she burned with guilt as if this was the adultery. 

He made love as he did everything else, determination and frustration in every thrust and every grab of her hair. There was some pleasure in it and he was gentle enough but she found herself always on edge, waiting to be caught out in a secret or a lie. Guy never noticed and in the days after was gentle and attentive. 

When she visited the forest, with food or gossip, she didn’t ask Robin to walk to the edge of the woods any longer. She could not kiss him after spending the night with her own husband, it was unseemly and she felt dirty from it. Still in her dreams she found herself back at the lake and sometimes when Guy moved within her, she clenched her eyes tight enough that tears formed at the edge. It comforted her to know she could not find herself with child, Djaq had discreetly given her a tonic and Marian’s monthly courses assured her that Djaq did not fail her.

“Would you like to come to the castle today?” Guy asked her one morning as he dressed in the early light, the room brightening as she blearily looked at him. Prince John was visiting from London and there was to be a feast in his honor that week, Marian would be obligated to go and she had no desire to do more than that for the prince. 

“Hmm, why?” she asked, pulling herself up in bed and covering her body. Guy rarely saw her in the light, she still feared showing him the scar fully was too dangerous. 

“There is a fair for Prince John’s visit, there will be animals and a market. You might find it diverting,” he said and she smiled. He was making an effort and she could not begrudge it. They rode side by side on their horses later and he listened and smiled as she talked excitedly of the fairs she remembered as a child.

When they arrived at the castle later, she was even more grateful to him. The castle grounds were lined with people, trinkets and food and clothing from around the countryside with games for children and pastries to eat by hand. There was a buzz in the air, a cheer passing from person to person. She saw people she knew, smiling at her and friendly waves hello.

“I must go speak with the Sheriff, will I find you here?” Guy said, taking her horse from her. She nodded happily, walking off towards a flower seller whose blooms were nearly as wide as her hand. 

She walked from stall to stall until she heard a familiar voice and then a sudden tug into an alcove. She nearly screamed, ready to bring out a dagger tucked into her cloak when Robin placed his hand over her mouth, shushing her.

“Why can you never say hello like a normal person,” Marian asked.

“Why do you always greet me with knives,” he said with a smile. 

“What’re you doing here?” she said with a hiss. He was standing too close to her, his body pressed up against hers and his hand still on her waist. He looked at her and for a moment, his smile suggested he would comment on their closeness but he was distracted, looking back out at the crowds.

“Your father wrote to me, something about a pact to kill the king. He told me to come to meet him at the fair but I cannot find him,” he replied. Marian bristled, pulling away from him,

“Robin! How can you involve him in these schemes? How can you put him in danger?” she said, her voice growing louder. Robin stared back at her, his eyebrows knit in disbelief.

“Me? He wrote to me to meet him here! Your father is no child, Marian. He was the Sheriff here, he cares about Nottingham as much as I do,” Robin said. She began to argue but he ignored her, “Look, go inside the castle and look for your father there, I’ll go around back. If you find him, tell him it is too carefully guarded. I’ll meet him tonight at Knighton and we will discuss then.” 

“Robin! No!” she said, but he had already slipped away with a squeeze of his hand around hers. She sighed and made her way into the castle, walking the hallways looking for her father. She was exasperated by them - her father, and Robin, and even Guy. None of them heard her when she begged them to listen and did what they wished, consequences be damned. 

It was in this righteous fury that she heard her father’s voice “get back, I said!” She looked out the window and saw him in the courtyard below, a sword drawn against a man in front of him, a piece of parchment pressed in the other hand. She rushed from the window, picking up her skirts and running down the stone stairs so quickly she turned an ankle. Wincing in the pain, she ran towards the courtyard where the man and her father circled one another.

“Edward, hand it over,” the man said. She did not know him but he was younger than her father and seemed surer with his sword.

“I cannot, you know that,” her father said and Marian knew how heavy that sword must be in his hand. Then in a sudden move, the man lunged at Edward, the sword sinking into his chest as both men stared at one another.

“No!” Marian screamed and both men looked at her. “Help me!” she called and her scream was so loud it burned her own throat. The man hesitated and ran, his sword still impaling her father’s body against the ground. His eyes were fluttering and Marian ran to him. 

“My girl, my girl,” he said and his bloody hands found hers. There was a piece of parchment clenched in his hands that dropped when his fist loosened. Marian grabbed him, shaking him lightly to keep him awake.

“Father, please, please don’t go,” she cried. 

“Marian!” she heard Guy’s voice, but she could not take her eyes off of her father. His color was going already and even when she opened his eyes, they fell closed again, his head lolling sickeningly on the ground.

“Marian, what happened,” Guy asked, grabbing her by the shoulders.

“Get off me,” she screamed, “Get your hands off of me!” shoving him away. He looked as if he had been burned.

“Who did this? Marian, come here, please” he said, holding his hand out again. As he spoke two guards came out into the courtyard, drawing their swords.

“What is this? What are you doing?” Guy asked.

“Lady Marian, you must give us that piece of parchment,” one of the guards said and Marian clutched it to her chest tightly. Her father had died for this. The guard moved towards her and in an instant, Guy ran his sword through the man. Marian stared, the blood running to her feet as Guy dispatched the other guard. His sword had stuck in the man, a sickening sound as he tried to draw it out and he finally took the man’s own dagger, drawing it against his throat. 

“We must go, now,” Guy said and he wrenched her to her feet. She struggled, her hand still held her father’s lifeless hand but Guy was stronger and she felt weak, dizzy, as if she was not in control of her body. He threw her on his horse, leaping up behind her and spurred the horse, leaving the castle before more guards arrived.

“You need to tell me what happened, Marian,” he said, but she took the reins from him. “What are you doing?” 

“We can’t go back to Locksley, it’s the first place they’ll come,” Marian said, her voice grim. She ignored his other questions, driving the horse forward until the saddle dug into her thighs. It wasn’t until they reached the shade of the forest that Guy realized what she was doing and he protested. 

“Marian, stop, this is insanity,” he said but she ignored him, kicking her heels and whispering an apology to the horse beneath her. They had barely entered the shade of the forest when Little John appeared, he had walked into the path too quickly for a man his size and her horse reared in surprise. 

“Marian?” he said in surprise, staring at Guy on the horse behind her. 

“I need to get to Robin,” she said and she ignored Guy stiffening in the saddle. 

“At the river path, by the same clearing as last week’s,” Little John said and Marian nodded to him. She knew there would be a hundred questions from Guy, but they would have to go unanswered, she could not breathe much less explain. The horse thundered down the path and the gang clearly heard it before they saw her. When she came in view, they stood, weapons in hand until they saw her face. Then, on seeing Guy, they took their weapons again and the confusion rippled through the camp like lightning. 

Marian brought the horse to a stop and she jumped from the horse, a fall more than a deliberate dismount and she tumbled to the ground. Guy jumped down beside her and there was a stillness in the camp, nobody sure what to do. 

Robin stood a few metres from her, his bow held in his hand loosely. She knew he could raise it in an instant, the Guy could be speared with an arrow in the blink of an eye but she could not stand up to defuse the moment, she wanted to scream, she wanted to cry. 

“Marian,” Robin said, his voice was careful, quiet. “Marian, tell me what this is,” he said and suddenly she stood, raising her hands to him, covered still in blood and lurching towards him. She let out a sob and he quickly went to her, catching her before she fell again.

“My father,” she said, hiccuping before she could continue, “My father is gone,” she said and the wail she let out brought Robin to his knees with her. He held her as she rocked, her body wracked with sobs and her bloody hands cold in his. 

“Shh,” he said gently into her hair but his eyes met Gisbourne’s. The two men stared at one another, both bewildered and cautious but Marian’s sobs brought them back to the moment. 

“They killed him for this,” she said, pulling the parchment from a fold in her cloak and handing it to Robin. 

“What is it?” Guy asked, and his voice surprised Marian. She had forgotten she had brought him here and his deep voice in the bright forest startled her.

“It’s the pact,” Robin said. “The pact from the noblemen to betray and kill the king,” he met Guy’s eyes directly but they betrayed little. If he was lying, it was convincing. “Marian, what happened?”

“My father had it, a man killed him and then the guards came for me. I didn’t know where else we could go,” she said and her voice was stronger now. 

“It’s alright,” Djaq said, interrupting the moment. She was an intruder in a private moment, but there were already too many people present. “Come here, Marian, let us wash the blood off,” and Marian let herself be led to the river, its cold water flowing over her numb skin.

Guy stood unmoving. He found himself in the camp of his greatest enemy for refuge and the events of the past hour carefully fell into place in his mind. She had come here for help. She had known where to come. 

“Hood,” he said, his voice firm but Robin interrupted him.

“Save it, Gisbourne. I won’t fight with you now. She’s weak and she needs to rest. Come eat by our fire and I’ll pretend I don’t want to kill you,” Robin said, but his bow didn’t leave his hand. When Marian returned, in a pair of Djaq’s pants, short enough to show her ankles and an old shirt of Will’s, she found Robin and Guy sitting across the fire from one another. They were studiously avoiding each other’s eyes and when she arrived, neither looked at her either. She sat next to Djaq, who squeezed her shoulder comfortingly and handed her a bowl, filled with porridge.

“Eat,” Djaq said gently and Marian smiled softly but put the bowl in front of her and made no move to do so. 

There was silence around the fire and she knew she had made a mistake bringing Guy here. In the moments after her father’s death, her mind had been cloudy and it was on instinct alone that she had brought them here. Now the mistake was clear in front of her. She wanted Robin to look at her, to meet her eyes and offer some comfort, to hold her and stroke her hair with his fingers. And yet, she could not answer Guy’s looks, his questions and what she knew would be his thunderous anger. She was dissatisfied in all of it though, for nobody moved or said a word at all. 

Until Much, sweet Much broke the silence with a raise of his ale, “To Edward,” he said, “The greatest sheriff Nottingham has ever known.” She looked at Much and her thank you was a sob in her throat. Much smiled at her, his eyes swimming with tears. 

“When my father died, Edward came to my house that night,” Robin said, his voice clear in the darkening night, the fire casting shadows on his face reminding her of the boy he was. “He came to my house after everybody else was abed and he roused me from my sleep. He took me outside to the large oak tree and he gave me his sword. And he told me I should hit that tree until I no longer could for anger could become hate if it simmered and I did not have any hate in me yet. He stayed with me all night,” Robin finished. Marian had never heard this story from either man and it nearly brought her to tears again. “I loved him as my own father. I loved him,” Robin said and on his final word, his voice caught and he swiped his eyes with his hand. It was unbearable to be sitting away from him then and Marian clenched her fist to stop herself from screaming at the indignity, the pain of everything. 

For a while nobody spoke and then Djaq’s voice interrupted the thoughtful trance.

“We should all sleep, Marian should sleep,” she said. She felt for Marian, who had come to her in so many moments of need and looked as broken as Djaq had ever seen her, her face swollen and red. 

“We cannot stay here, Marian,” Guy said and before Robin could speak, Marian turned to him.

“Guy, we have to rest tonight. It is late, we cannot make a plan until morning,” she said. Allan and Will made them beds at the edge of the camp. They had put them close together until Much, smarter than his friends, pulled one away, close to Djaq’s. 

“Come to bed, Marian,” Guy said then, reaching for her hand. But she shook her head, her glare into the fire intense. 

“Not yet, not yet, I cannot let this day go yet,” she said and her voice was so shattered he nodded. He lay in the makeshift bed where he was still close enough to hear and see her at the fire, where Robin still sat with her. He burned with jealousy, but he would not try and force her to him tonight after what had happened. He fell asleep that way, staring at her dark shadow by the fire. 

“Will you talk to me?” Marian said after another quiet interlude. The camp had quietened, Allan had hummed a sweet song while he had readied himself for a night’s guard and now it was only her and Robin sitting in silence by the fire. 

“I am so sorry for your father, Marian. I never intended for this,” he said, and his face was so plaintive and sweet she nearly cried again.

“I am sorry for coming here,” she said. 

“Where else would you go?” he asked. He could not look at Gisbourne’s sleeping form, only a stone throw (or an arrow's path) away. He knew too that they could not stay. That he could not keep Marian and her husband here, he and Gisbourne would kill each other before the day was done or Marian would kill them both.

“I don’t know,” she said, a sigh falling shuddering from her. 

“I am his wife,” she said in the silence that followed. Robin looked at her but did not reply. They fell asleep like that, sitting by the fire until it died out, not speaking and not touching.


	6. Chapter Six

It turned out they were both wrong. They stayed for days, the manhunt for Guy and Marian made the roads an impossibility. So the uneasy camp where Marian, Robin, and Guy avoided one another and bickered with everybody else was nearly at a head when Much sweetly asked who would take charge of dinner that night.

“Gisbourne, would you like to contribute? Perhaps use that sword for something other than attacking innocent villagers?” Robin said, raising an eyebrow. Guy snarled at him, a retort ready on his lip until Marian glared at him, cutting it off. 

“Robin,” Marian said. Her voice was a warning and Robin slunk off with his bow and a glare. She stood by the flowing river after he left. She had not been alone with either man in days and the pregnant pauses in conversation left her feeling uneasy and impatient.

“Marian,” Guy walked up next to her. “Marian, we must leave here,” he said to her. She nodded but did not speak. “We can go to the continent, seek refuge in France. My mother’s family is there,” he continued but she did not respond. He wanted to take her, to shake her until she would look at him and to remind her that he was her husband. 

“Can I have a moment to think, Guy?” she said. When she spoke to him lately, it was as a stranger, any intimacy that had grown in the nights in Locksley gone. She did not sleep next to him, falling asleep by herself near the river or near Djaq where he heard them talking into the night. She rarely spoke, to him or to Hood. But she did not cry either. She was a stone sculpture most days and he saw nothing of Marian in her, the grief clouding her over. 

So when he heard her laugh that evening by the campfire, picking at the deer Hood had killed, it startled him. 

“I swear it, she would never touch deer. Robin’s father had killed deer for a feast and he brought it into the house and you should have heard Marian scream! She wept over the poor thing until Lord Locksley said there would be no venison at dinner and he sent for some poor chickens to be killed,” Much said and Marian laughed again, her eyes bright in the fire. 

“Not like you to be so delicate, Marian,” Djaq said and Marian shook her head.

“I’m not delicate!” Marian said, throwing a small rock in Djaq’s direction. “But I would still rather not eat the poor deer,” she admitted guilty to everybody else’s laughter. Guy smiled, to see her laugh was a gift, not one he had been given often.

“There’s not much else right now, I could set some traps for some little bunny rabbits?” Allan said, earning other shriek from Marian. “Or if you want, we can find that old Nightwatchman outfit of yours and you can go pilfer some bread.” 

A silence fell. Allan’s laugh died out quickly when nobody else spoke. Marian met Guy’s eye, a challenge, and he was so shocked that it took him a moment to speak.

“No,” Guy said. 

“It was a long time ago,” Marian replied softly.

“The scar on your stomach,” Guy said, the horror creeped into his voice and Robin bristled, at the tension and the reminder of what Guy had done and that he had seen enough of Marian to know of the mark.

“It was a long time ago,” Marian repeated but she did not look away. He had a thousand questions but she had drawn away from him once again. He stared at his hands, at the thought of what he had done, and a shudder went through him. Marian shushed Allan’s apologies and slowly the jokes began to flow again but she did not speak the rest of the night. He went to her later that night, and slid onto the forest floor.

“I nearly killed you,” Guy said.

“Yes,” she replied simply. 

“You could have told me. After we married. You didn’t have to-” he broke off, remembering the cut lip and the wide gash that took months to heal, days to stop bleeding. 

“It doesn’t matter now,” she said, and her voice was distant and cold. Guy slept in fits that night, his nightmares of Marian dying in his arms and her blood on his hands.

Marian woke early the next morning. It was impossible to sleep in the forest with the tension that hung in the air. Guy would not stop looking at her and Robin would not look at her and she was claustrophobic and lonely all at once. She slipped out of camp as they all slept, no destination in mind but found herself at a bend in the river. She slipped off her boots and dipped her toes in the icy waters. 

“If you fall in, I’m not going after you,” Robin’s voice called out and she smiled. She knew he had followed her but hadn’t waited for him. She wanted to know that he would follow her until she stopped, that he would come after her.

“Better than going back to that camp, Robin,” she said.

“If you want, I can kill him and this all becomes easier,” he replied and she rolled her eyes. She would not let Guy be killed. It was not love, exactly, but he was tied to her and her responsibility. Robin sat down next to her and it was the first time in days he had been so close to her. She leaned her head against his shoulder and he drew her close, smelling her hair and feeling her soft breathing.

“It doesn’t matter anyhow, I’m leaving,” Robin said.

“What?” Marian asked, half distracted by the rising sun warming her.

“I’m taking the pact to the Holy Land, with Much. I have to get it to the King,” he said.

“What?” she asked again, she had heard him this time but it was disbelief in her voice.

“What would I stay for?” he said and she wanted to scream “Me, me, me, you stupid boy. All this time, you should have stayed for me!” And although she said nothing he heard her anyway, “You are married, and your husband will take care of you. And somebody needs to warn the king,” he said.

“And it has to be you? And if you die? What about Nottingham?” she said, her eyes wide.

“The world will go on without Robin Hood,” he replied. She wanted to throttle him, to shake him into understanding but he interrupted her furor. “When I first went to the Holy Land, I thought of you every single day, every single night,” and he blushed at the memory, at how desperately he had cried for her those first nights. “I thought of every single kiss and every single time I was inside you and your laugh and your smiles and you became something else, not Marian. You became an idea, the perfect woman waiting back here in Nottingham. That is who I expected to find when I returned, just the idea, just the dream,” he said. 

“If you’re telling me that I’m not perfect, I’d rather not hear more,” she said but she was quiet at the seriousness of his voice.

“You are so much more than the dream, you are everything, Marian. And all those things, the laugh and the smile and the anger and the sadness, I know them now. I can keep them with me this time. But I cannot stay here and watch you from afar.,” he said. She did not speak but let out a whimper, her eyes filling with tears. 

“We have never had time, Robin,” she said, taking his hand in hers. Her hand was frigid in his warm one and he drew her closer, a darkening patch on his tunic where her tears fell. “If you go, if you leave again, I will never forgive you,” she said. 

“Marian-” but she interrupted him with a kiss. Drawing him down and ignoring his protests. 

“I need you,” she whispered and then made it clear, her hand reaching into his trousers, no longer frigid but warm around him as he shuddered into her mouth. He opened his mouth to speak but she kissed him again, ending the argument effectively. She pulled away to look at his face, the need written on her face, her breathing heavy. 

“If you are going to leave me, then at least say goodbye properly this time,” she said and her voice broke at the end of her words but she cleared her throat and looked him straight in the eye. He took her hand, kissing her palm gently. A decision resting in the moment. Robin felt no obligation to her marriage, had broken its sanctity with her nearly a dozen times over. But he needed to pull away from her, not draw closer, if he was to leave.

She broke through his thoughts, pushing him back and straddling him, slowly rocking her hips against his. He could think no longer, he sat up and kissed her, her face in his hands and her nails digging into his back. He pushed up her skirts and it was quick and desperate, their moans muffled in each other's shoulders. 

She put herself to rights after smoothing down her hair and tying a knot in his tunic at the neck. 

“I should go back. Wait here for a while,” she said, kissing him firmly. He smiled at her, he had no urge to back now anyway. To see Gisbourne. 

Robin sat by the river, the cold wind skimming the water icy in his face. But it gave him clarity when all she did was cloud his thoughts. A week in the forest with her, standing near enough to touch, was like an ache in his bones. Robin heard her late at night, early at dawn, her muffled sobs against her pack. And yet, and yet, he thought always, her husband lay only on the other side too. Robin had hated Gisbourne for so long it was like breathing, he looked at the man and seethed. But now? To have Marian in his camp among his men, her dark hair against the bright green of the trees and her pleading eyes that followed him around camp but to have to keep his distance. It was unbearable.

He began to walk back to camp, the place that had become his home, and now felt like a prison. Marian thought he wanted to go to the Holy Land to abandon her and perhaps she was right. How could he stay so near her and so far?

“She is my wife,” a voice said. Robin stood and turned around, Gisbourne standing a few feet away. Robin had no weapon, no defense and Gisbourne’s face made him regret the fact. He moved quickly on the trail back to camp, Gisbourne was stronger than him but Robin was faster and once he had his bow- “She is my wife!” Gisbourne thundered again,

“In name only,” Robin responded, turning to face the man. They stood, circling each other. Gisbourne had his sword against his side and no matter how fast he was, Robin could not outrun its draw.

“You think you can cuckold me and I’ll sit here like a dumb and deaf idiot, Hood. She is my wife and you are a coward,” Guy said. His face was dark and Robin had never been more sure that Gisbourne would kill him.

“I had her first,” Robin said cruelly and nearly laughed at Gisbourne’s surprise. “I took her maidenhead, did you know that?” And at that Gisbourne lunged at him, knocking the wind from him as they both tumbled to the ground.

“I’ll kill you, Hood,” he hissed.

“And then what? You think she’ll love you? She can’t stand you,” Robin sputtered, punching Guy in the face when his words had distracted him. Guy roared back, a blow to Robin’s stomach that left Robin reeling. Robin scrambled away, crawling despite the pain in his side. He wanted his bow more than he had ever wanted it. 

Guy stood too and drew his sword and Robin’s body felt hot, every nerve attuned to the man in front of him, ready to fight.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Marian’s voice was a thousand miles away so when she came and stood in front of him, he thought for a moment that she wasn’t real.

“Marian, get out of the way,” Guy said.

“Put down that sword, Guy. This is foolish,” she said, moving towards him slowly, her hands held up, open. 

“You think you can shame me, Marian. You think you can fuck him where I can find you and that I’ll let you and your lover shame me?” he said and Marian flinched. She drew back for a moment in surprise and Robin gently moved her aside.

“Marian, you need to run before he hurts you,” Robin said to her softly and his words only inflamed Gisbourne who rushed him with his sword. Marian lurched between them again and Guy pushed her firmly out of the way. She fell almost prettily into the water, her eyes wide and her arms outstretched, the cold going through her like a knife. 

“Marian!” Robin screamed and he jumped in the river without a thought. It was so cold when he plunged in that his body began to panic and he forgot for a moment how to swim. He fought his way back to the surface, grabbing a hold of a branch floating halfway into the water. It bit into his numb palm, scratching until warm blood rushed to the surface.

“Give me your hand, Marian,” he cried as she struggled towards him. He reached for her, their fingers brushing as she fought against the current. He looked at the fear in her eyes and promised himself he would never find it there again. She would not live this life any longer. With a groan she pushed herself against the water, grabbing onto his hand as he drew her close. She was shivering so violently, her teeth slammed against each other.

“Shh, shh, you’re alright, you’re safe,” he said. Gisbourne was on the shore, holding out his hand. Robin’s instincts fought his hatred and he handed Marian to Gisbourne who pulled her out, wrapping his cape around her as she collapsed onto her knees still shivering. Gisbourned offered his hand to Robin who took it without an ounce of gratitude and immediately went to Marian, her face still white and drawn. He picked her up and ran back to camp, Gisbourne sullen in his footsteps. 

Robin settled her by the fire, she was still shivering but her skin had color in it once again. He was freezing, his clothes still drenched and heavy but once he put her safely in Djaq’s care, he lunged towards Gisbourne.

“You’ll be the death of her,” Robin roared, taking the other man by the collar, his knuckles white.

“You think you can keep her safe? As an outlaw?” Guy said, wrenching free. 

“You’re a traitor. To your king, to your country. You don’t deserve her,” Robin said, and his voice was like poison, dark and heavy. Neither do you, Guy wanted to scream. But Marian was still shivering by the fire and all he could think of was the red scar on the ivory skin of her stomach. He turned and walked away without a word.


	7. Chapter Seven

Marian slept next to Robin that night. She promised him that she was warm, she was safe. But he held her tightly and she woke in the middle of the night to find him watching her.

“How can I sleep with you staring at me?” she said, turning and kissing the tip of his nose. He drew the blanket around them tighter, his mouth lifting in a smile.

“I dreamt of this when I was in the Holy Land. What it would feel like to sleep next to you. I’m getting my fill now,” he said and she ignored the implication.

“I used to wake in the middle of the night sometimes,” she said, her voice was low. It was still the pitch black of the middle of the night and the only other sounds were the hoots of a disgruntled owl. “I would hear the tree outside my window rustle and imagine it was you swinging up.” He kissed her, long and slow, his hand resting in her curls, cupping the back of her head. 

“What do you think it would have been like if I never left?” he asked and she looked at him for a long time before she answered.

“We would have married and I would have given you a little babe and we would have cared for the people of Locksley and my father would still be alive,” she said. Robin shuddered lightly. Her stare was hard but she didn’t move her leg wrapped around his waist.

“That is a heavy burden to put on me,” Robin said.

“And it will be heavier still if you leave again,” she replied. He sighed and turned over, laying on his back and staring at the stars. They twinkled in the night sky, bright and true. He had brought Marian to the forest one night, a month before he left the first time. To tell her of his decision. It was a warm night, nothing like tonight’s cold air that kept Marian pressed next to him. And as he had been about to tell her of the King’s call and his own answer, a star had shot across the sky.

“Robin! A shooting star! Make a wish,” she had said, her voice excited and he almost couldn’t believe she had ever been so innocent. He knew what she had wished for then. What she would wish for now.  
“And if I don’t go? If the plot to kill the king continues? What of that burden?” Robin said.

“We choose our burdens, Robin,” she said, turning away from him. But he still wrapped his arms around her, and she let the kisses in her hair and the voice against her ear lull her to sleep again, his words soothing even if they were goodbyes.

Guy returned the next morning, his clothing dirtied from sleeping in the forest with only his cloak. He had brought stolen meat and bread, it was meant to be recompense but Robin’s first question was who he had stolen it from.

“From Locksley, Hood, so you can keep your sanctimonious lecture to yourself,” Guy said, rolling his eyes and throwing Much the bundle.

“Oh so still stolen then, from my house,” Robin said. Guy did not respond. He was looking only at Marian who he had found sitting on a branch above the camp, her legs swinging in the breeze. She had greeted him only with a small nod when he had returned, no question as to where he had been. She looked like one of Hood’s gang in her green linen shirt and her hair tied back, the curls escaping like a halo around her head.

“Marian, we must talk,” Guy called to her. She jumped down, landing nimbly and it reminded him suddenly that all these years, she had been the Nightwatchman. “Alone,” he said, softly.

“No,” Robin said. “You’re not going anywhere with her.” 

“Oh hush, Robin,” she said but then she kissed him, full on the lips, in front of Guy and he was appeased. 

They walked without talking, the forest warm and loud around them with birdsong and insect calls.

“That was cruel,” Gisbourne said after a moment, thinking of the kiss, how her hand had curled around Robin’s arm.

“We should not keep score of the cruel things we have done to one another,” Marian replied. “How was Locksley?” she asked, in the moments she had stopped thinking of her father, she had thought of Locksley, her servants and the house and her garden. 

“The Sheriff had his men ransack it but nothing else. Thornton asked after you,” Guy said. She smiled fondly, in her time as Lady Gisbourne, he had been a true friend. 

“Marian, we cannot go on like this,” Guy said, stopping and grabbing her by the shoulders. She sighed and gently loosened herself from his grip.

“I know,” she said, she was quiet then, watching him carefully. Love is a bond, she thought, and it is a shackle too and she could not free Guy and she could not free herself from Robin so this is where they all stood.

“Did we ever have a chance?” Guy asked, and his voice was so soft and so full of sorrow, she took his hand and held it firmly.

“Nothing can grow from roots so rotten, Guy. Our whole life-the things that have happened, we cannot change them. Your proposal and our marriage, built on the lies of the king’s return. All the things we have done, me stealing from our pantry to give to the poor and you stealing it back from them. Your child! Who you never even speak of, who you left to die!” she said, and at this he flinched, staring at the ground. 

“I cannot change the past, Marian. But I love you, you are the only thing I have ever loved and I could give you a different future,” he said quietly. Her words were impossible to argue with and yet his too were the truth.

“You do not see me, Guy. You think I want only riches and comfort and jewels. You do not see me,” she said.

“And he does?” Guy asked, his voice was plaintive. Marian looked at him for a moment and she cupped his cheek. She thought of a time when she was 14 years old and Robin had left his bow outside when his father had called him in. She had picked it up, despite his express command to leave it alone and she had snapped the string, almost immediately. Robin had come back outside and scolded her, and she had run home in tears and shame. But the next morning, she found him outside with his bow repaired and a new smaller bow. “Now you won’t mess with mine,” he had said with a roll of his eyes but his smile was bright and cheeks blushed when she kissed them.

“He does,” she said.

“Fine. Then I release you,” Guy said, wrenching himself free of her, walking back to camp so quickly that Marian half ran to keep pace.

“Guy, I will help you get to the continent, to see you safe” she had nearly said we will help, but it was too cruel and she was still sympathetic to a fault. He had not replied and when they came back to camp, faces red and breathing heavily, she had caught Robin’s glare which was disapproving.

“I will take the pact to the king in Acre,” Guy said and the shock on all their faces would have been comic to him if he was in a mood to laugh.

“No,” Robin said, after a beat. “Why would I trust you? Why would he trust you?”   
“You can write him a letter to accompany it,” Guy said. 

“You tried to kill him before, Gisbourne,” Robin said, nearly shouting in incredulity.

“I had orders. And now I have different ones,” Guy said, shrugging. Robin rolled his eyes. 

“What is this about?” Marian said, and she was standing so close to him Guy almost reached for her. He wanted to hold her, to feel her soft hair against his chest, the clean smell of her filling his head.

“I cannot change the past, Marian. But this I can do,” he said, his voice soft. 

“We are not discussing it, it’s out of the question. How do I know you don’t have other orders from the Sheriff? That this isn’t some ruse?” Robin said and he was pacing around the edges of the camp, his voice loud.

“Send one of your men with me, with a letter. They can see it delivered to the King,” Guy said with a shrug. 

“Djaq and I would go,” Will said, and Djaq smiled at him, brightly as the sun. 

Marian watched Robin, as the decision faced him. She would not speak, this had to be his own choice. To let Gisbourne do this and to stay with her. She would not beg again. 

“Is this some game?” Robin asked Guy.

“It is an apology,” Guy said, looking at Marian. 

“Fine. I’ll write a letter. But swear to God, swear to me right now that you will get this letter and news of the pact to the King,” Robin said.

“I swear it,” Guy said, his eyes still on Marian. He thought of the days he had woken next to her, her shift tangled around her legs and her curls wild against the cream of the pillow. Perhaps she had saved him. 

The entire camp helped them prepare. Packing food and water and pooling their coins for the journey. It looked like it would all fall apart when it was time for Robin to hand Guy the pact but he did it with no ceremony, just a glare at Guy and a tight hug for Will and Djaq.

“Thank you,” Marian whispered fiercely into Djaq’s ear and Djaq clutched her tightly. She had been Marian’s savior a dozen times. Then when they stood with their packs and pockets jingling, she hugged Will quickly. Guy looked at her, as forlorn as he had ever been.

“I’ll walk with them. For a bit,” Marian said, and her voice brooked no argument so Robin did not try. She walked next to Guy and his long strides were slower than usual. At the edge of the forest, he turned to her and she pressed something into his hand, warm. It was her ring and it nearly brought him to tears.

“Keep it,” he said, a plea but she shook her head.

“You keep it. Remember me by it. Remember that everything is a choice,” she said and she hugged him tightly. 

“I love you,” he said and she smiled at him, leaving him with a soft kiss and Will and Djaq waited patiently for him, watching her until she was out of sight. 

The rest of the gang sat by the fire that night and it was quiet. Much had cried a bit when talking about Djaq and Will but none of them had mocked him. Allan had not spoken a word and Marian had given him an unexpected hug with no warning.

“Do you trust him?” Marian asked, sitting between Robins outstretched legs in front of the burning fire. Her head leaned against his chest and she could hear the thudthudthud of his heart.

“No,” Robin said simply. “But it was either that or the king would never hear of the pact,” he said.

“You wouldn’t have gone?” she asked, turning to look at his face.

“How could I have?” he said, taking her lips in his own. The night was cold and quiet but she was warm and his.


	8. Epilogue

They were pressed against each other, Robin’s hand curled around her waist and his lips in her ear.

“I am going to kill you,” she hissed and he laughed.

“Me? You’re the one who dragged me in here,” he said, breathing deeply. Then he gagged because the smell of the privy they were hiding in was so rancid, his eyes watered.

“As if you could have fought all those guards, you fool! Now be quiet until Allan arrives,” she said. Robin shifted slightly and the stolen bag of gold they had taken from the Sheriff’s stores jangled quietly. He shifted again, moving against her more deliberately.

“We have some time to kill, Marian,” he said, winking at her.

“Robin! You’re disgusting!” she said, pushing him away and then Allan arrived and it was all tumble and escape and running for their lives. 

They distributed the gold and the villagers winced at their smell but still piled them with ale and bread. They walked back to the forest in the golden sunlight and Robin held her hand and pinched her backside and laughed at her squeals.

“I’m going to wash in the lake,” she said and he raised his eyebrows at her.

“Race you?” he said but she was already off running. She looked back at him, a smile in her eyes and her laugh ringing through the trees and he nearly stopped, a pain in his chest, at how beautiful she was. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked when he caught up with her.

“I have something for you,” he said. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a necklace, a small red gem on a gold chain. 

“Oh Robin,” she said, taking it from him with tears in her hand. Her father had given it to her at their betrothal, a lavish gift from an austere man and she had hugged him so tightly the gem had left a welt against her ivory skin. 

“I love you,” she said and he smiled at her, bright and content. 

“I love you. But you’re too slow, Marian,” he said and took off running. 

“You’re a cheat!” she shouted, following him until they found themselves in the lake, tangled in kisses and clothing pulled off hastily.

They walked back to the camp, her hair still wet and ignoring Allan’s wolf whistles and Much’s lecture on catching colds. And as he sat by the fire, his legs sore from swinging from the castle walls and Marian’s hand in his, Robin sighed. 

“What?” Marian asked, turning to look at him. He kissed her on the forehead, tucking her head against his chest.

“I’m happy,” he said, simply.

“You’re soppy,” she replied but pressed a kiss against his chest and they sat for hours, tangled together in front of the fire in the middle of their camp hidden in their forest, Maid Marian and her Robin Hood.

**Author's Note:**

> I wish I could explain why I'm writing fanfic for a show that ended 12 years ago. Title from the John Keats poem, Robin Hood: 
> 
> Honour to bold Robin Hood,  
> Sleeping in the underwood!  
> Honour to maid Marian,  
> And to all the Sherwood-clan!  
> Though their days have hurried by  
> Let us two a burden try.


End file.
